


Such a lovely canvas.

by Celticas



Series: Trope Bingo [12]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Arms, M/M, Tattoos
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-19
Updated: 2019-12-19
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:40:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,000
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21860329
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Celticas/pseuds/Celticas
Summary: Phil wasn't a normal tattoo artist. He knew that and had long ago grabbed it with both hands and not let go.He didn't look the part and he didn't act the part. Unwilling to do tramp stamps and drunken mistakes, he took pride in his work.And he wasn't willing to unbend just because the most lickable pair of arms he had ever seen walked into his shop.
Relationships: Clint Barton/Phil Coulson
Series: Trope Bingo [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1518110
Comments: 6
Kudos: 86
Collections: Clint/Coulson Trope Bingo





	Such a lovely canvas.

It was a quiet day in the shop. Phil had had one appointment first thing in the morning, but since then nothing. It wasn’t that unusual, Tuesday were never their busiest day. But for some reason it was dragging today. For some reason? He knew the reason, the shoulders and arms he’d spent most of the weekend wrapped around was never far from his thoughts. All things being equal he would see them again. The problem with that hope was that he didn’t know the name attached to them… That sounded bad even to his own mind, he could never describe it like that. He knew  _ a  _ name, Charlie, he just wasn’t convinced it was the man’s real name. The pause when Phil had called it a few times told him it didn’t sit comfortably on the best set of shoulders Phil had ever seen and he spent all day everyday staring at bare skin from ankles to necks and everything in between.

The tinkle of the bed above the door was a welcome distraction. Customer service smile pasted onto his face, he looked up and met the very eyes he had been daydreaming about all morning. The crystalline blue was wide with surprise. The spark of hope at seeing the other man died a quick death. ‘Charlie’ was just as surprised to see him as he was to see ‘Charlie’, he hadn’t come looking. Not that he could have really, Phil hadn’t given anything more than his first name, at least he gave his real one a bitter voice in the back of his mind snarked, but that was it. No relevant details. They had both hedged around having service histories and if he had to guess ‘Charlie’ was probably still active duty, his eyes never resting. Always looking for the next threat. 

“Phil. Um, hi.” Charlie stumbled through a greeting.

“Hello Charlie.” Phil was proud of how steady his voice was. One of the few skills he could still use from his time in the Rangers, the limp limiting all of the more physically demanding skills. “Welcome to INKcredible. What can I help you with today?”

“Uh. I wanted to get a tattoo designed. Something like this.” He pulled a few pieces of paper out of the back pocket of his low slung black cargo pants.

The move pulled the already tight tee shirt to breaking point across the strong muscles of his chest and biceps, outlining every muscle and tendon. Every twitch visible.

Flipping through the papers, there was an obvious theme. Phil recognised the famous Jesus tattoo that adorned Beckham’s side. It wasn’t an image he would have chosen for the other man. All of them were obvious, but not as well-known and not all of them tattoos. Most were paintings or from books.

“This is what you want?” Phil had to ask, sceptical. He was always honest with his clients, his reputation of excellent work but also ethical. He wouldn’t do work that you could find in any generic shop. It was why he had quiet days and rarely took walk-in clients, but also why he could command such high prices.

Charlie cringed slightly. If it made him cringe before they even had a design why was he doing it. Phil couldn’t help narrow his eyes at the younger man, was it just a fake-out to come and see him? But then why had he been so surprised to see him.

“Lost a bet?” It was the only other thing he could think of. Bingo. The slightly shifty look on Charlie’s face told Phil he had hit the nail on the head. He wasn’t going to do work on something the client didn’t want, regardless of how much he wanted to get his hands on all that golden skin again.

Holding the papers out, “Sorry. That’s not the sort of work I do.” He waved the papers slightly when Charlie didn’t immediately move to take them.

“You don’t do commission work, or you don’t do religious iconography?” Charlie ignored the flapping papers. As he spoke, he eyed the list of services hanging on the wall behind Phil. Commission right on the top of the list.

“I don’t do bets, and I don’t do something I’m not convinced the other person wants.” The double meaning in that was ironic in light of their weekend together.

The shoulders that his eyes kept drifting back to held firm as the face above them moved through a number of emotions, only a few of which Phil could read. Resignation, amusement, confusion. 

“No problem.” He finally took the flapping papers back. A large hand darting out.

He hurried from the shop.

Phil figured that would be the last he heard about it, or saw of the other man. There hadn’t been any hint of him wanting to revisit their activities of a few days prior.

= + =

Three days passed. Busy with a random upswing in clients who wanted big complicated pieces. Every daylight hour, and more than a few extra, were filled with the scratch of his pencils and the buzz of his tattoo gun. It was comforting and helped to drive the thoughts of Charlie and his bet out of his mind.

He was bent over the calf of a tiny Chinese woman when the bell rang above his door. Skye had gone home half an hour ago, she should have locked the door behind herself. They didn’t have any more bookings for the night and he was almost done with this session.

“Be with you in a minute.” He called out even as he kept the graceful curve of his gun going. The petals of a closed lotus taking shape.

The man waiting for him behind the counter was the last person he ever expected to see again. Charlie. A sheepish smile on his face and a tiny redhead standing behind him glaring.

“Hi. I’m Agent Clint Barton and I need that design for a mission. Not a bet.”


End file.
